Rookies and Legends: A Cinderella Storyish
by EroSenin'sDeciplesKJT
Summary: Epic title is epic. :D Anyway, story picks up where Raw left off Monday night June 14, 2010. Expect a little angst, some humor, some fluff, some...yeah. It's not that bad. Oh yeah...tis SLASH!


**-xx-**

_For Dark Kaneanite, another roleplaying soulmate and fellow partner in crime for shenanigans :D_

**-XX-**

It was only a matter of seconds after the cameras went off the air that a team of medical people and refs were surrounding him, helping him to his feet. "Mr. Hart! Mr. Hart! Are you alright?" They helped Bret to his feet but he immediately shoved them away shaking his head.

"I'm fine!" he snapped. But then he realized what he had done and then quickly started apologizing. "I'm sorry. Guys…I'm sorry. Really I'm just—I'm not hurt so can you give me some space?" The refs immediately backed away but the physicians still didn't look so sure. "Really guys I'm fine," he grumbled pushing his way past them. He limped a little wincing every step of the way, but he was sure it was just a sprained ankle. The NXT rookies certainly didn't care too much for the way they manhandled a wrestling legend, but even he knew the word "legend" didn't carry much weight anymore, mainly due to the stylizing of the sport he still cared for despite how with each passing year Vince managed to ruin it some more. He scoffed at the thought. And it only took _him_ about ten years to really get to the level he wanted and an additional five or so to really show the world what pro-wrestling was all about.

He could remember a time when the locker room cleared for wrestling legends or when rookies actually wanted to learn. Nowadays when you offered advice they either acted bored when you tried to tell them something or flat out refused to listen. Not that the advice mattered much anymore. So much had changed in the business that guys like Hogan, Flair, Shawn, Taker and even himself helped build. These days it was hardly a shell of what it used to be and yet here he was…still here…and yet he couldn't quite put his finger on why he bothered to stick around now. When he first came back (hell froze over) it was just to clear the air with Shawn. His was in much better health but after so many losses in his family, he knew he needed to let go and forgive. Tomorrow was promised to no man and he didn't want to risk burning in hell when all he had to do was shake a man's hand to lift such a heavy burden. He'd much rather swallow his pride and forgive an old rival than risk not seeing his brother again someday.

But after January 4th, he witnessed a few things about this business - that there were still guys that had passion for it. He witnessed it first hand week after week in guys like Cena, who despite the hate he got from most fans, was the hardest working kid in the business. Then there was Sheamus who was rumored to have gotten his push due to another old rival. Whether he did or not, it didn't change the fact that he was eager to learn and eager to get better. There were others but he often found his eyes wondering back to that old rival, watching him in his last days as he prepared to say good bye.

Wrestlemania 26 and the main event featured an old friend and a rival; two future hall of famers and wrestling legends. Those two men had a lot to prove since they were being forced to top their match from the year before. He could remember crying near the end of that match and it was that match that once again, reminded him of the passion for the business. He could remember looking around and seeing all of the roster staring up at the plasma TV in the breakroom, most of them with tears in their eyes – including the divas – as they watched Mark tombstone Shawn Michaels for the final time. It was at that moment he knew he had to stick around. So now here he was, but funny thing is, it seemed like most of that passion went out the window with his ex rival and lover. He shook his head. He always knew Shawn was special. He just found it funny how everything he did since their first meeting always led back to the light he found in Shawn despite them being nothing more than associates these days. "Oh crap!" Bret tripped, agitating his sprained ankle. He was expecting to hit the floor but through divine intervention or just damn good luck, ended up falling into a warm body who immediately went to work apologizing ninety 'sorrys' a second. He took a moment to thank God for the warm body and with some help, he pushed away straightening himself up.

"Sorry Bret. I'm—Mr. Hart I'm sorry."

Bret waved it off. "It's okay, it's just a sprain." He opened his eyes a bit more realizing that the warm body belonged to one of the youngsters, John Morrison as he called himself now, standing before him looking really concerned and flushed. Bret frowned. "Kid you look like I'm dying."

"Well it's not like you were looking where you were going," he winced. "You seemed kinda spaced out…with all due respect sir," he added quietly looking down at his feet.

Bret raised his brows. "Are you being funny?"

John shook his head. "Oh, no, no, no. Don't—don't take—that didn't come out right." He sighed. "Sorry," he mumbled again.

Bret sighed. "Kid, I'm sorry. It hasn't exactly been my night as you can see and I got a lot on my mind. Didn't mean to snap you up. In fact, I owe you a thanks. Whether it was luck or you coming to my rescue you kept me from embarrassing myself even more by taking a nasty fall so for that, thank you."

John shrugged. "It's no big deal. It's you ya know? Bret Hart." He casually looked down towards Bret's feet taking note of how he was trying not to put a lot of pressure on the sprain. "You…you should probably take a seat and maybe ice that down. I'm not trying to tell you what to do," he added quickly. "I just—It's just as suggestion." He looked around and saw that the area was void of any co-workers aside from crew so without waiting for confirmation, he moved behind Bret taking his arm and throwing it around him. "Lean on me and let's get you to your dressing room."

Bret didn't argue. The kid was right and he'd never admit it out loud but his ankle was killing him. Once inside his room, John carefully helped him to his chair then left only to return minutes later with a bag of ice. He pulled up a chair, propping Bret's foot on it and continued by carefully sliding off his shoe. Bret hissed a little startling John but with a slight nod he gave him permission to continue. John carefully began peeling the sock off of Bret's foot, wincing at every hiss or groan he made. "Sorry Hart, but it's really swollen," he noted.

He placed the bag over the ankle then moved across the room where he sat quietly staring at the floor. Both men sat comfortably in what should have been an awkward silence and maybe it was for John, but Bret was beaming on the inside. He watched the kid for a while taking note of how really good looking he was. Like really. John was hot and a part of him felt like a creep for noticing – and I mean really noticing – the sweet abs, the perfect tan, the gorgeous Prince Charming like hair and eye that reminded him of those that used to melt his heart with every glance. Ok. Now, maybe, he was starting to feel uncomfortable. 10 minutes had already passed and John was still there.

"Hey John? You don't have to wait up," he said quietly, the air in the room seeming tense now. "I'm sure my niece is still around somewhere if I need her. I could be here for a while ya know. This sprain hurts like hell."

John looked up shrugging. "It's cool. Not like I got to be anywhere anyway."

"John…since you're not leaving then I gotta ask. Why'd you hesitate to help me outside? You scared to touch me or something?" He didn't mean for it to sound so gruff but it wasn't his style to hold his tongue or sugarcoat things. Even as John was helping him to the dressing room, he'd pondered this in his mind and since John was still here, he figured he might as well get his answer.

John looked away again staring at the floor. "Guess I thought a proud man like you wouldn't have wanted to be seen getting help. Don't take that the wrong way either Hart. It's just me probably overanalyzing again."

The room was quiet for a long while before Bret spoke up again. "Actually John you're right." John raised his head again frowning slightly. He opened his mouth to speak but Bret just waved it off with a slight chuckle. "John, it's okay. You saw right through my act which has me curious to what else you might have noticed since my run here as GM," he inquired but not really. He wanted to know but then he wasn't exactly asking John to say anything more which was fine. The kid was gracious enough to get him off his feet after he was totally – in his mind – disrespected by a bunch of kids who were more than likely going to get spat on in the coming months when Vince realized that half of them were far from ready for the big times.

"You seem-" he started but Bret cut him off.

"Kid, I don't think I wanna know," he laughed.

"But you're a legend," he said quietly. "And you deserve a little more respect than what you're getting around here."

"Thanks for pointing out the old age," he joked. He expected, in turn, to get a laugh out of the kid but he only looked slightly uncomfortable. "Uh…John?" he frowned. "It was a joke. You can laugh. I swear I won't get mad."

"I would if I didn't really feel strongly about this. I feel like a lot of people – and not just you but even guys like Jericho or Hardy – should get more respect around here from the guys but they don't and it just kills me ya know?" He moved his chair closer to Bret, turning the ice bag over a few times as he spoke. "I guess it's because unlike some people, I realize how much of a joke this business has become. I don't really like the way things are because I can remember a time when an old tag team partner of mine and myself had to bleed and claw our way to the top just like you did when you were coming up. He almost lost an eye in a ladder match but…now…now all you gotta do is look pretty and maybe bang a few of McMahon's golden boys to make a name for yourself and it kinda bothers me," he finished.

Bret listened to the kid's words carefully taking note of how bitter he sounded. It was as if he actually liked getting his ass handed to him the hard way which kinda threw Bret for a loop considering John looked like the type to not care; just a tool for McMahon, but maybe he was wrong about him. "Kid, are you sure I'm the guy to talk to about this?" he questioned. "Don't get me wrong, I understand completely but, what can I do? As you can see," he said looking down at his half broken ankle, feeling a little sorry for himself, "it's not like McMahon or anyone else for that matter gives a damn what I have to think or say around here. That's just a show they put on, but at least I'm getting paid to go along with the storybook act."

"I kinda noticed that tonight," he admitted. Bret shot him a furtive glance, uncomfortably looking away when the same eyes he compared to an ex lover stared back at him with eyes full of concern. "If they'd have been more aware you never would have sprained your ankle. Those rookies…" he sighed and went back to nursing Bret's ankle, never knowing that the tender way he doctored on him was bringing color to the legend's face. "I think the swelling's gone down."

Bret casually glanced down at his ankle nodding. "I think you're right kid." He reached over tugging a few strands of John's silky tresses. "Thanks for your help," he grinned. "I think I can manage now."

"Oh! Well," he grinned sheepishly. "Sure you don't need a ride or something…Pinky?"

"Pinky? Where did that come from?"

"Well your face…it's all pinkish looking now."

"Oh…well the heat-"

"Actually it's turning a darker shade of pink now, but it's no big deal," he said heedlessly. "I mean, to be honest I think it becomes you. But never mind that old man how about I get you out of here?"

"You asked me that already but since you insist," he smirked, grateful for the change of subject, "I'll take you up on it. The 'or something' part is what I'm not so sure about. You kids these days get into stuff this old man isn't quite sure about."

John grinned. "Well Bret, I'm not most kids. I helped ya didn't I?"

"I guess you did."

"And," he pointed out, "I stayed behind to make sure you were alright. That means all of us aren't all bad after all so whatever you were thinking earlier, you should probably toss it out of that mellon of yours. I think most of the locker room would agree that's it's nice having someone like you around for guidance and all of that good stuff."

Bret laughed. "Are you just saying all of this to make me feel better about being an old man or is this to make up for saying I've got a big head?"

"Neither," he answered as he grabbed the sock off the floor. "Allow me Cinderella," he snickered.

"Oh gee." Bret watched as John carefully helped him back into his sock and shoe, with John being extra careful not to aggravate the ankle. He would slide his hand on the underbelly of the foot caressing tenderly as he slid the sock on. Bret looked away occupying himself with a spot on the wall until John finished lacing his shoe.

"There," he said, sounding accomplished. "All done." Bret moved his foot out of the chair and pushed himself to a standing position. Surprisingly his ankle hurt a little less but when he applied too much pressure it still made him wince. John walked around the room grabbing Bret's coat, keys, and bags throwing them over his shoulder. He hurried behind Bret as he hobbled out of the office stopping him long enough to force his arm around him. Bret looked over at John, unable to hold back a proud smile.

"You're really making me look bad ya know? How am I supposed to pick up gals like this?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood again and take his mind off his heel which burned with the touch of John.

They started walking with John taking most of Bret's weight along with the bags. "Well," he huffed. "I figured you were into something better than pushy gals."

"Oh?" he laughed. "And just how did you come to that conclusion? Hope you didn't spot me staring longingly at Michael Cole all evening." They were now standing outside John's car where he awkwardly dug the key out of his pocket popping the trunk. He tossed Bret's things inside then hurried to get the door for him. Bret climbed in but before John shut him in, he paused for a second grinning down at the legend. "What?" Bret asked curiously.

"To answer your question…It's because you're letting me take you for a drink and quite possibly sharing a room with me tonight as payment for my services."

"And if I don't pay up?"

"Then I've got a lot more to learn about seducing legends," he winked.

"Wait-what!" _He must be joking…_ "Now wait a second. So…so what are you now? My Prince Charming?" It was more sarcastic than angry, but he was taken off guard and because of his own perving earlier, this only made it worse.

John shrugged. "Could be." He closed the door and got in next to Bret grinning big as he started the car. "I mean look at it like this Pinky, the shoe fit. Why not wear it?"

"But it was my shoe!" he said hotly, his face heating up again.

"Details, details," John waved. "You're in the carriage now. Might as well go to ball."

"Can't dance with a hurt ankle," he grumbled, looking towards his window. He was now starting to wish he'd have just gone with the medics, especially since he was thinking about telling Vince this wasn't exactly working out. But then he was taken off guard once again by John.

"Bret?" Bret turned around and met lips closing in on his. Soft fingers gently drew him in by the chin, sucking the tender flesh until Bret's lips parted, allowing him entry. He closed his eyes allowing the rookie to explore as he pleased, his hand coming down briefly on the exposed part of his chest. "If you can't dance," the kid muttered, still brushing his lips against the Hitman's, "we could always just hang out in the carriage all night since I'm _sure_ you're not quite ready for the tower."

"I-I don't even know how to respond to that one," he stammered.

John pulled away grinning. "You don't have to. You're a legend remember? And legends," he smirked, "get special treatment. Expect to get it at least until the stroke of midnight."

* * *

**A/N: Okay. Abrupt ending but hey, I was in the middle of a meltdown writing this one and I dunno…Felt like I should publish it anyway since it was full of LOLzy. To make up for this randomness, I updated Speed Dating so don't judge me too harshly. LOL**

_- Typed this and posted it on LJ. I thought it was amusing so I'm posting it here._

_- This pairing actually came about during an RP with my good friend and fellow ff author Dark Kaneanite, but the pairing was actually JoMo-Undertaker (you know it) then somehow miraculously shifted to UT-BH. I was going somewhere else with this (angst) but my brain couldn't handle it so it went the Disney route._

_- Pairing might not make much sense but trust me. It COULD work under the right circumstances._

_- Sorry I haven't been updating or writing new fics but seriously, I needed a break._

_- I'm obsessed with Glee now. I want to glomp Kurt._

_- Oh and if you don't watch TNA you should. It's not great but then neither is the WWE. TNA has Robert Roode. That's good enough reason there.  
_


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